A biased look at psychology in the world

Living History

December 10, 2017

Can a six-year-old boy be convicted of manslaughter? Though there have been countless cases of accidental deaths caused by children, whether through improper storage of a firearm or because of some other cause, the idea that a child under the age of ten could stand trial as an adult for a deliberate killing seems unthinkable today.

But things were very different in 1929 Paintsville, Kentucky. When six-year-old Carl Newton Mahan got into an argument with eight-year-old Cecil Van Hoose on May 18, 1929, nobody expected t to explode into murder. By all accounts, the argument began when Cecil took a piece of scrap iron away from the younger boy who had first found it. While the beginning of the Depression was only a few months away, the local economy was already in decline and the money that could have been made from selling the scrap metal to a junk dealer was certainly worth fighting over. At least, that's what the two boys believed.

After Cecil took the iron that Carl believed was his (and slapped him in the face as well), Carl had no choice but to run away from the larger boy. Unfortunately, Carl's father had a twelve-gauge shotgun which he kept above the door in his home. Though Carl wasn't tall enough to reach the gun on his own, he managed to get it by climbing a chair that he had pushed in place. With the gun being already loaded, and with no adults to stop him, Carl was then free to confront his archenemy. As he would later testify in court, he ran back to Cecil, pointed the gun at him, and shouted, "I'm going to shoot you!" Which he promptly did, shooting Cecil in the head. He died hours later.

Though nobody was quite sure how a six-year old boy could even hold the heavy shotgun, let alone aim and fire it, there was no disputing that it was a deliberate killing. Police wasted no time charging Carl Mahan with murder despite his age. While English common law has long assumed that children under the age of seven was incapable of committing a crime, many U.S. states, including Kentucky, have no minimum age of criminal responsibility. Though legal experts had misgivings about the case, it still went to court just days later and newspapers around the country carried the story. Reporters covering the trial described the spectacle of a six-year-old boy laughing and joking with the friends who sat with him in court, apparently unaware of the seriousness of his offense.

The case also bitterly divided the families of the defendant and the dead boy. Not only did Carl's father hire an attorney to defend his son, but the Van Hoose family hired their own legal counsel to work with the prosecutor. As for Carl himself, his version of events basically came down to his getting back at Cecil for stealing something from him because he happened to be bigger and stronger. While the judge and prosecutor likely hoped that the case would be quickly settled, Carl's defense attorney, John Wheeler, apparently hoping to keep the boy out of a state reformatory, demanded a jury trial.

Not that it was much of a jury trial. The prosecutor called in numerous witnesses to bolster their case against Carl (who largely spent his time lying down on the defense counsel's table sleeping). As for the defense attorney, he focused on his client's age and whether he had any real understanding of what he had done. The case only lasted one day and the jury quickly found Carl guilty of manslaughter (having bumped him down from the original charge of murder) after only thirty minutes of deliberation. The presiding judge, John W. Butcher, then sentenced him to 15 years in a state youth reformatory. Almost immediately, Carl's defense attorney appealed the sentence. He also secured a writ of approbation blocking the reformatory move on the grounds that the trial had been "irregular and illegal" since Carl had been charged with "willful murder" rather than delinquency.

In the meantime, Carl was sent home to live with his parents who had managed to raise the $500 bail that had been set for him. Once home, the parents found themselves besieged by curiosity seekers who all wanted to catch a glimpse at the young killer and Carl became a virtual recluse as a result. As well, newspapers around the country continued to follow the legal battle over whether or not Carl would be sent to the reformatory. Eminent legal authorities weighed in with their own opinions about how the case had been handled.

The great defense attorney Clarence Darrow was particularly outraged over the verdict and said that "anyone with intelligence would recognize the utter irresponsibility of someone that age." He even suggested that the case represented a "throwback to the Dark Ages." Somewhat miffed by Darrow's words, one judge involved in the case responded publicly suggesting that "the statements of such men" were responsible for Chicago's many murders. But the public debate wasn't all one-sided. Many felt that Carl's sentence hadn't been severe enough and that he should have been given a full prison sentence.

Ultimately, the resolution of the case was left up to Kentucky's attorney general, James W. Cammack, who eventually did, well nothing, really. Though he spent weeks reviewing the case, he ultimately took no action and allowed Carl to stay with his parents. Though I wonder about what his life was like after his release, there is surprisingly little information available on what happened to him next. All that available records show was that he eventually moved to nearby Jefferson county where he died in 1958 at the age of 35.

While Carl Newton Mahan continues to be the youngest murder defendant in Kentucky's history (or just about anywhere else), it seems unlikely that anyone will ever beat that particular record. There have been occasional cases of children ten or younger standing trial for violent crimes, courts have often been left floundering trying to decide what to do with them. Even with older children, the results often remain controversial as with the trial and execution of fourteen-year-old George Stinney only a few years after Carl Mahan's trial. While modern courts have more options, including special youth courts to address complex cases such as Carl Mahan's, there are no easy solutions.

Ultimately, cases of extreme violence committed by young children represent a crucial test of how society handles the often thorny challenge of dispensing justice fairly and humanely. And, perhaps it always will be.

December 08, 2017

As early as the year 1374, strange episodes of dancing mania were reported across Europe. No obvious pattern or triggers to the outbreaks, just large gatherings of men and women of all ages, forming circles and dancing for hours at a time, often until they collapsed with exhaustion. According to Justus Hecker, a 19th-century German physician who studied the dancing mania:

While dancing, they neither saw nor heard, being insensible to external impressions through the senses but were haunted by visions, their fancies conjuring up spirits whose names they shrieked out; and some of them afterwards asserted that they felt as if they had been immersed in a stream of blood, which obliged them to leap so high. Others, during the paroxysm, saw the heavens open and the Saviour enthroned with the Virgin Mary, according as the religious notions of the age were strangely and variously reflected in their imaginations.

Priests, town councils, and local rulers were all alarmed by the dancing mania. The Church blamed the dancing mania on demonic possession and fought it with all the tools at their disposal. Along with frequent sermons directed at the dancers, churches conducted long religious festivals designed to stop the dancers. Although a few priests even resorted to exorcisms, nothing seemed to keep the dancers down for long. While the priests did what they could, local governments resorted to more direct approaches including having the dancers beaten with sticks and even banning the wearing of round-toed shoes in some places (which made dancing harder).

Although the dancers often burned themselves out after a few months, the relative calm afterward rarely lasted long. As the dancing stopped in one part of Europe, new outbreaks would happen in other parts. What alarmed local governments and the Church most was the extreme social disruption that often occurred with the dancers. Not only did serfs and free workers stop working fields, but housewives often deserted their domestic duties as well. The dancers were primarily found in the poorest classes of society but authorities worried that the mania would eventually spread to the nobility and the priests in time.

By the 15th century, the dancing mania became known as "St. Vitus' Dance" based on the legend that Saint Vitus had been formally entrusted by God to protect his followers from being affected. Although there was no evidence of this legend existing before the 15th century, the previously neglected saint suddenly had shrines dedicated to him across Europe. Medical doctors preferred not to treat the dancing mania themselves (the Church regarded it as their mandate exclusively and the doctors weren't inclined to fight them on the issue) and relatives of mania victims often had no choice but to turn to the Church for help. The first medical doctor with the courage to question Church doctrine about the demonic nature of the dancing mania was likely Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, a.k.a Paracelsus. Having made a name for himself as a bold medical reformer, Paracelsus embraced the motto "Let no man belong to another that can belong to himself" and scandalized church authorities by rejecting magical explanations for diseases, He even dared to argue that diseases could be cured by learning about the body and the toxic effects of the environment. Of course, being an astrologer and an alchemist as well made him very much a man of his time.

In studying St. Vitus' Dance, Parcelsus suggested that there were different types of dancing mania which he termed Chorea imaginativa (dancing mania caused by imagination), Chorea lasciva (resulting from "sensual desires"), and Chorea naturalis (dancing mania resulting from bodily imbalances, i.e., disruptions of the various chemical elements of the body). He also suggested that dancing mania could be passed on through sympathic arousal of the animal passions. For treating dancing mania resulting from imagination, he suggested having the affected patient create a wax image and then "projecting all [the patient's] blasphemies and sins on it". Burning the image would then relieve the patient of the need to dance. For the other type of dancing manias, especially involving women leaving home to dance, he recommended forcible restraint and harsh treatment to "bring them to their senses". This included depriving the dancer of food and immersion in cold water as needed.

For whatever reason, episodes of St. Vitus' Dance began declining throughout the 16th century. While mild outbreaks still occurred, the most severe cases became relatively unknown. Still, pilgrimages still continued each year to the various shrines dedicated to St. Vitus until well into the 17th century across many European countries. By then however, southern Italy had become the centre of the dancing mania epidemic even after the St. Vitus' Dance episodes faded into memory elsewhere. While not entirely identical to St. Vitus' Dance, the strange disorder known locally as "tarantism" had been recorded in southern Italy for centuries (primarily in the Apulia region). The disease received its name from the belief that symptoms were caused by tarantula bites and that dancing was essential to prevent death. Historians still dispute which spiders native to Apulia were considered responsible for the disease. The most likely candidate was the common wolf-spider (Lycos tarantula) or poisonous lizards may have been blamed as well (according to Hecker, the Italian words for tarantula and lizard, terrantola, were very similar). The actual evidence that spider or lizard bites were involved in the disease seems limited at best and most of the tarantism episodes were almost certainly caused by mass hysteria alone.

According to Niccolo Perotti, symptoms of tarantism included deep melancholy (depression), sensitivity to certain colours (such as red or green), and a strange catatonic state. While some tarantism victims were extremely sensitive to music and would often dance to the point of exhaustion, other victims simply wasted away and refused to respond to any attempts to make them eat or care for themselves. As the epidemic spread out of Apulia, musicians were often hired to perform for tarantism victims and make them dance as much as possible. The prevailing medical opinion at the time was that forcing the victims to dance caused the tarantula venom to be spread throughout the body and given them relief. Since the hot summer months often provoked a relapse, many tarantism sufferers had to go through the same dancing cure each year and the number of dancers grew to enormous numbers. Native Italians weren't the only ones affected and many immigrant groups living in the region were struck by dancing mania. Eyewitness accounts described musicians being forced to play non-stop until the dancers dropped from exhaustion. If the music paused for even a moment, the dancers sank to the ground and only got up again if the music started playing. Although folk dancing was popular in Italy long before the first cases of tarantism were reported, one particular folk dance became known as the tarantella because of the association with tarantula bites.

Cases of tarantism gradually faded over the 17th century although individual cases continued to be reported into the 1800s. While the original link to spider bites has been throroughly debunked, the actual cause of dancing mania, whether in Italy or other places, remains a matter of dispute. Since no known physical cause has ever been identified, the various dancing manias are likely to be a classic example of mass psychogenic illness spread by word of mouth descriptions of episodes in different parts of Europe. The dancing mania epidemic strongly resembles later episodes of mass hysteria most likely to affect relatively powerless members of society otherwise expected to live by strong social conventions preventing any form of free expression (including women and peasant). Cases of mass psychogenic illness are still reported today but it continues to be a poorly understood condition and diagnosis is still controversial.

As for the dancing manias of Europe, the most lasting legacy seems to be the lively tarantellas that are still popular in Italy and Argentina. Visitors watching the folk dancers perform should spare a thought to the strange epidemic that gave the dance its name.

December 03, 2017

Often appearing out of nowhere (or so it seems at times), rumours have a way of spreading rapidly. Whether spread by word-of-mouth or, more often these days, by social media, the most popular rumours have a tendency to confirm the basic beliefs people have about other people and the world around them. And thus, these rumours are believed because people often want them to be true. Still, by the time these rumours run their course, the damage left behind in the form of ruined reputations and mistrust can often take years to heal. If it ever does.

And so it proved in 1996 in the Egyptian city of Mansoura. Located in northern Egypt about 120 kilometers north of Cairo, Mansoura didn't seem to be a likely target for a strange Israeli scheme involving HIV-infected women and hormone-laced gum, but the panic generated by a series of stories published in a popular opposition weekly would soon change that. As a forum for the Arab Democratic Nasserist Party, the weekly newspaper Al-Arabi had a reputation for publishing lurid stories about Israel and their continuing struggle to destabilize Egyptian society. Still, despite the sensational nature of their stories, they certainly knew their audience.

Beginning in July, 1996, Al-Arabi began publishing a series of stories with titles such as "Israel Launches Sex War" and "Pharmacists Sell Sex Bombs." All of the stories had the same basic theme: that Israel was engaged in a covert campaign to corrupt Egypt's young people (particularly its young women). Since none of the HIV-positive women supposedly planted by Israel actually materialized, Al-Arabi's coverage quickly shifted to the "sex gum" that had supposedly surfaced in cities like Mansoura.

Said to be laced with "sexual stimulants", the tainted gum (sold under brand names like "Aroma" and "Splay") reportedly inflamed the sexual passions of the young women who chewed it. Spurred on by the newspaper stories, rumours quickly spread about the bizarre sexual antics of formerly demure college students under the influence of the gum. Along with stories about female students chasing after their male classmates, female students interviewed on campus described how fearful they were that they might become affected as well. Not only were women warned not to accept gum from males they didn't know, but fathers in Mansoura began keeping their daughters at home rather than let them attend university classes.

Though western journalists largely dismissed the story as propaganda, members of Egypt's parliament openly denounced Israel and its presumed plot to poison Egypt's youth. One member of parliament, Fathy Mansour, insisted that fifteen female students had been sexually assaulted by males who had chewed the gum. Local mosques began using loudspeakers to warn the community about the tainted gum and about the orgies believed to be occurring at the local university campus.

While chemists at the Ministry of Health tested different brands of gum and found no suspicious additives, Egyptian police started investigating Mansour's claims. No actual victims came forward but police still closed down many of the shops where gum could be purchased. Some store owners were even arrested though they were soon released after police failed to find any incriminating evidence. Soon enough, the rumours died down as people moved on to other stories though "sex gum" stories occasionally appeared in some newspapers.

Until the following year when a new tainted gum scare sprang up, this time in the Gaza Strip and along the West Bank. Said to be strawberry-flavoured and sold under brand names such as "Thunder in Paradise" and "The Legend of Pocahontas", this new gum was supposedly laced with sex hormones that would render women sterile, but only after turning them into sex fiends with uncontrollable urges. Much like in the previous tainted gum scare, extremist politicians jumped on the story and demanded that authorities confiscate the gum before it was too late. As some western journalists reporting on the story pointed out, the tainted gum rumour was becoming more fantastic as it continued to spread. Along with claims that hundreds of tons of tainted gum had been seized, some health officials suggested that Israel was planting the gum to turn Palestinian women into prostitutes who could be recruited by Israeli intelligence.

Of course, given that Israel was being blamed for the entire mess, other Palestinian officials insisted that the tainted gum was part of yet another plot to destroy the Palestinian people and Islam. Abdel Aziz Shaheen, the Palestinian Authorities' supply minister, the man who was in charge of importing food and supplies into the Palestinian territories, there was no question that Israel was putting sex hormones into the gum. And the effect of these sex hormones were pretty versatile. Along with corrupting and sterilizing women, the gum was also capable of "completely destroying the genetic system of young boys." As proof of this plot, samples of the gum were sent to a laboratory in Egypt which reportedly found traces of progesterone (a female sex hormone). Meanwhile, the Washington Post decided to check these findings by arranging for independent tests on gum samples they obtained from Palestinian authorities. In testing carried out by Dan Gibson at Hebrew University found no traces of any sex hormones in the gum.

Much like before, the rumours surrounding tainted gum died down and things more or less returned to normal. Perhaps not surprisingly, Yasser Arafat himself remained silent on the whole matter though he did nothing to rein in the rumours either. In much the same way, then-President Hosni Mubarak refused to comment on the sex gum rumours that were still a popular subject in Egypt's press. Political commentators weighing in on the tainted gum panic pointed out that anti-Israeli rumours tended to be especially popular whenever Israeli-Palestinian relations were particularly strained. During the 1970s, rumours that Israeli agents were poisoning Arab water supplies were especially popular and several cases of mass hysteria involving female students being affected by tainted water were also reported.

While never particularly destructive as panics go, the sex gum epidemics that occurred in Mansoura and the Palestinian territories are graphic examples of the way that rumours can be used to serve a particular agenda, whether political or otherwise. In an era where Internet panics are becoming more prevalent, it also helps highlight the need to check the facts rather than relying on something spread by word-of-mouth.

So don't be afraid to chew that stick of gum, but be sure to keep your hormones under control just in case.

December 01, 2017

When Mary Shelley published her now-classic novel Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus in 1818, she did more than invent the modern science fiction genre. By creating the characters of Victor Frankenstein and his monster, she also established a new archetype: the arrogant scientist who dared to make life and tamper with God's plan for creation. The Frankenstein label has haunted scientists ever since.

In writing her novel, Mary Shelley drew from numerous sources (including her own husband Percy Bysshe Shelley and his friend Lord Byron who were both rabid science fans). The late 18th century and early 19th century was a turbulent era for scientists as new developments in electricity and the nature of life made even the most fantastic speculations seem possible. The idea that electricity might provide the "spark of life" was reinforced by the work of Luigi Galvani who described experiments using electric current to stimulate the legs of dead frogs. Rightly or wrongly, Galvani concluded in his 1792 work, In De Viribus Electricitatis in Motu Musculari ("On Electrical Powers in the Movement of Muscles") that electricity was the life force, or animating spirit. Suddenly the flood gates seemed open for scientists experimenting with life itself and England was at the forefront with the pioneering electricity experiments of Michael Faraday. Despite being largely self-educated (aside from his work as a bookbinder and an assistant to Humphrey Davy), Faraday's success inspired numerous fans to carry out their own experiments in private laboratories across the country.

The Squire of Fyne Court

One of Faraday's admirers, whose own experiments on the nature of life would make him the focus of one of the most bizarre episodes in the history of science, was Andrew Crosse, the squire of Fyne Court in Broomfield. Born in 1784, Crosse's life as the eldest son of a respectable family began to change when he developed a passionate interest in the natural sciences as an adolescent. After attending a series of lectures on electricity, he began his own experiments by constructing a Leyden jar and repeating many of the experiments discussed during the lectures. Despite his fascination with science, he followed the conventional path and became a law student at Brazen Nose College in Oxford. With the death of both of his parents by the time he was twenty-one however, Crosse returned home to take care of the family estates at Fyne Court. Along with continuing his friendships with some of the most prominent writers and scientists of his time, Crosse also set up his own laboratory where he could continue his life-long interest in electricity and mineralogy. Since his estate was not particularly prosperous, Crosse relied on hand-made apparatus that he used to electrocrystallize various minerals. Over the years, he carried out numerous experiments and made a series of original discoveries, some of which were published by his friend, George Singer, as part of his own work on electrochemistry.

"The Perfect Insect"

In 1836, Crosee carried out what would be his most controversial experiment. After soaking a porous stone in a mixture of potassium silicate and hydrochloric acid, Crosse ran an electrical current through the combined chemicals so that he could form silicate crystals. On the 26th day of the experiment, Crosse reported seeing what he described as "the perfect insect, standing erect on a few bristles which formed its tail". The insects then crawled away with hundreds more appearing in the following weeks. After identifying the insects as belonging to the Acaridae family, Crosse declared that the insects belonged to an entire new species of mites, acarus electricus (later changed to acarus crossii) although he carefully denied saying that he created them using electricity. As he would write afterward:

“In fact, I assure you most sacredly that I have never dreamed of any theory sufficient to account for their appearance. I confess that I was not a little surprised, and am so still, and quite as much as I was when the acari first made their appearance. Again, I have never claimed any merit as attaching to these experiments. It was a matter of chance. I was looking for silicious formations, and acari appeared instead…

Whatever the reason for the appearance of the mites, Crosse's proud discovery staggered his friends and family. He then sent his results to be published by the London Electrical Society and a local newspaper picked up on the story. While Francesco Redi's research had already disproven that spontaneous generation of life could actually happen, the belief was still common enough at the time. As well, electricity was new and mysterious enough for Crosse's claim to at least seem plausible. Still, the idea that a country squire could "create life" offended the religious sensibilities of just about everyone Crosse knew. His oldest friend, poet Robert Southey was shocked on hearing about what Crosse had been up to in his laboratory. He reportedly said, "It's the very Devil, Andrew". And that was relatively mild compared to what happened when his neighbours heard about it.

"Virulence and Abuse, Calumny and Misrepresentation"

Andrew Crosse already had a fairly sinister reputation in the area thanks to his public demonstrations of electricity on the grounds of Fyne Court using yards of iron wire strung together. Many of his peaceful neighbours called him the "thunder and lightning man" and declared him to be a "disturber of the peace of families" due to the noise of his scientific activities. Rumours that devils surrounded by lightning haunted Fyne Court and danced on the wires strung across the estate made them shun the area at night. That he was apparently playing God as well was too much for the local people to bear. Crosse found himself being denounced as an atheist and a blasphemer across all of England. According to Cornelia Crosse, in a biography of her husband that she wrote in later years, Andrew Crosse was deeply hurt over being targeted with "so much virulence and abuse, so much calumny and misrepresentation". Not only did he receive numerous angry letters denouncing him and his experiments but he was also the target of physical attacks. Local men, apparently drunk, attempted to smash down his fences, set fire to his crops, and kill his livestock. Others threw stones at Crosse as he went on his usual solitary walks. He was even accused of being responsible for a local potato blight (presumably caused by the insects he created).

If things weren't bad enough, a local clergyman carried out a public exorcism on the border of Crosse's estate. Holding up a bible, the clergyman shouted, "Reviler of our holy religion! Disturbance of our Christian peace! We came to ask Heaven's protection from you and your foulness!". No word on whether this ended the potato blight but Crosse was likely not amused. Upset over his treatment, Crosse became increasingly secluded with only his science and his young wife, Cornelia, for company. Although his extensive research continued, Andrew Crosse would write no more on the subject and most of the information about his original experiments have been lost. After his death in 1855, his wife wrote an extensive biography titled, "Memorials, scientific and literary of Andrew Crosse, electrician" which is the main source of available information on Crosse's acarus experiment and his later work.

So did Andrew Crosse create life?

Well, probably not. Still, the exact reason that the insects appeared during his experiments is an open question. While later scientists claimed to replicate his experiments (and even Faraday weighed in on the subject), Crosse's discovery eventually faded into obscurity. The most likely explanation for what he observed is that the insect eggs were already present in the porous stone that he used and that the electricity had somehow induced them to hatch. Given the later discovery of French biologist Stephane Leduc, that osmotic crystallization can produce crystalline structures that can mimic life in remarkable ways, it is also possible that Crosse and his imitators may have simply been mistaken about the "insects" that they were producing in their laboratories. Since Andrew Crosse was no biologist, he was unable to verify whether his apparatus had been contaminated in any way and the information contained in his wife's biography doesn't really shed any light on the controversy.

Whatever he really accomplished with his research, the very public condemnation that Andrew Crosse faced after announcing his discovery has a depressingly modern ring to it. Accusations of "playing God" and tampering with nature are still heard today and many researchers often face verbal abuse, death threats, and even violence by outraged opponents seeking to stop scientific progress. That Crosse could stoicly endure and carry on his research despite the various attacks on him and his family may well be a quiet inspiration for other researchers facing attack.

November 26, 2017

Even though the 19th century had more than its share of hucksters offering miracle remedies for any disease you could name, Giovanni Succi's name definitely stood out. Instead of offering a cure for rheumatism, consumption, or "female troubles," what Succi was even more wondrous: a cure for hunger itself. And he was willing to put this promised cure to the test.

Not that he was the first to make this sort of claim, mind you. For whatever reason, inedia (from the Latin word for "fasting") remained a hot topic throughout much of the 19th century. Stories of "fasting girls" who could survive without food remained common in many places across Europe and North America. Some 'hunger artists" even put on regular shows during which they would demonstrate their "miraculous" ability to go without food. During the mid-19th century, Londoners could pay a "voluntary" donation to see one particular faster, Bernard Cavanaugh, as he displayed his "powers of abstinence" to the world. He was soon arrested after one of the spectators recognized him at a shop where he was buying a ham sandwich. Though these claims continued to be successfully debunked, new cases still had a way of coming out of the woodwork.

Still, Giovanni Succi was a little harder to dismiss. Rather than grandiose claims of being able to go without food as a result of mystical training or a "miraculous" gift, Succi's strange ability stemmed from a special liqueur that he had supposedly discovered during his travels. Though some sources suggest that the ingredients in the elixir were nothing more than chloroform, morphine, ether, and "Indian hemp", Succi refused to confirm or deny this.

Born in Cesenatico, Italy in 1853, Succi's early life seemed unremarkable enough. Working as a bank clerk in Rome, and later as a commercial agent who traveled extensively through much of Africa, it was there that he reportedly discovered the miracle liqueur that would make him famous. Though he refused to say more about the elixir, he insisted that drinking it at regular intervals eliminated any need for eating food. In fact, he claimed to be able to go without food for weeks at a time without any ill effects.

Beginning in 1886 while Succi was living in Milan, he offered to have himself tested by any medical doctors to prove his ability to go without food. And many doctors took him up on his offer. Following a two-week fast in Paris where he was reportedly watched at all times by a committee, he then moved on to a more ambitious challenge: a 30-day fast in Milan and, later that same year, another 30-day fast in Paris. This allowed him to win a 15000-franc wager and, perhaps as importantly, establish himself as a celebrity.

He followed up his earlier fasts with one in 1888 during which he was watched by members of Florence's Accademia Medico-Fisico. Not only did he complete the fast with no apparent ill-effects, but the Accademia was impressed enough to confer a diploma on him afterward. In a description of this miracle fast (which was published in Scientific American in 1888), the committee members who had overseen Succi's fast wrote: "We the undersigned do certify that Signor Giovanni Succi of Censenatico in the Romagna, African traveler and explorer, has competed at Florence a fast of thirty days... We further declare that by his courageous experiment, and by his scrupulous fulfillment of every moral pledge undertaken by him towards us, Signor Succi has deserved well of science."

Not surprisingly, newspapers across Europe and North America carried stories about Giovanni Succi and his strange ability to go without food. It likely helped that he was an agile and muscular man with a striking appearance whose Italian looks appealed to female fans. An 1890 fast at London's Royal Aquarium lasted forty days with Succi consuming nothing but water and his mysterious elixir (he also smoked two pipes a day with the occasional cigar). By the end of his fast, he had lost more than 34 pounds in weight which, according to his personal physician, worked out to 26.5 percent of his original body mass. Despite this dramatic weight loss, the medical experts who had been monitoring the fast found no evidence of medical problems. Succi pocketed 3000 UK pounds for that performance.

Another famous fast took place that same year at the old Koster and Bial's Music Hall in New York City. The spectacle began on November 5, 1890 and Succi, ever the showman, had a hearty meal before the fast was set to start. According to one news story, his meal consisted of "anchovies, boiled trout, olives, celery, cressini, risotto, roast partridge, roast quail, grapes, pears, and a bottle of chianti." From that point on, for the next forty-five days, he would have nothing more than his mysterious elixir and water. Along with a committee of seven doctors who were charged with overseeing Succi's fast, there were numerous students from Bellevue Hospital as well as a crowd of spectators who had all paid admission to watch a man starve himself. Presumably it must have been quite a show since thousands of people came to watch during the course of his fast. When the fast ended on December 21, Succi was reportedly a "weak and miserable and pitiable object" though hundreds of people were packed in the hall waiting to hear the final results. On being told that Succi had successfully completely the fast despite losing 40 pounds, the cheers of the audience shook the building. He broke the fast with a sumptuous gourmet dinner and the newspapers carried full details of everything he ate. Succi was a star, after all.

Not all of his fasts were so successful however. In 1892, he was back in London for a repeat performance at the Royal Aquarium, this time for a mind-boggling 52-day fast. Unfortunately, he only lasted forty-four days before being forced to end the fast to take nourishment. Despite this setback, he continued his fasting performances across Europe, sometimes along with fencing and foot-racing demonstrations to show that he remained in good health despite not eating. During another 50-day fast in Vienna however, things didn't go so well and observers discovered food that had been smuggled to him. This didn't end his career though and, to prove he wasn't a fraud, Succi arranged to have himself bricked up in a prison cell during another fast in Verona. This time, he succeeded.

Still, the pressures of his continuous fasting eventually got to him. In 1896, during a fast in Paris, Succi became deranged and began smashing everything within reach. It took two police constables to restrain him and he sang Italian songs all the way to the police station. Audiences were delighted with his antics though there was nothing fake about his mental state. After a week in a local infirmary, he eventually returned to normal though his career was never quite the same. By the early 1900s, "hunger artists" had fallen out of fashion and Succi found himself having trouble making ends meet. One 30-day fast in Vienna only earned him twenty UK pounds, a pittance compared to what he used to make. After being forced to quit his performances, he eventually ended up as an asylum attendant before dying destitute in Florence in 1918.

Despite his sad end, Giovanni Succi managed to become part of popular culture. Years after Succi's death, the celebrated traveler and writer Robert Ripley wrote about him in his syndicated "Believe It Or Not" column as "the Fast Man." According to Ripley, Succi's 80 fasts worked out to an incredible 3200 days without food over the course of his stage career. As well, Franz Kafka's 1922 short story, "The Hunger Artist" is believed to be based on Succi's career and his later downfall.

While "breatharians" and their ilk continue to demonstrate their purported ability to go without food even today, none of them ever had the sheer panache or showmanship displayed by Giovanni Succi - king of the hunger artists.

November 24, 2017

It is still one of the most bizarre scientific experiments in history.

While crossbreeding between species has been occurring for thousands of years, genetic dissimilarities between most animal species make successful crossbreeding extremely rare. In the case of horse-donkey crossbreeds, for instance, mules (the offspring of male horses and female donkeys) and hinnies (the rarer offspring of male donkeys and female horses) combine the best elements of both parent species due to hybrid vigour. Unfortunately, mules and hinnies are almost always sterile given the different number of chromosomes in the two parent species. While lion-tiger crossbreeds also exist, they invariably depend on human intervention to bring them into being and the same sterility issues usually apply. For that matter, climate change has led to a significant rise in coywolves (coyote/wolf hybrids) and "grolar bears" (polar bear/grizzly hybrids) in recent years.

But what about other highly similar species such as humans and chimpanzees/bonobos? Despite the strong genetic similarities between homo sapiens sapiens and pan troglodytes/pan paniscus, the genetic differences between the species appears too great to allow any kind of viable intermating. With the human genome containing 46 chromosones versus 48 for the chimpanzee/bonobo, the gap seems no greater than the genetic difference between horses and donkeys. As a result, the concept of deliberately creating a humanzee or a chiman has attracted a certain morbid interest despite the vast legal and ethic issues involved. Genetic evidence has even suggested that interspecies sexual activity occurred long after the human and chimpanzee lineages diverged allowing chimpanzee genes to enter the gene pool of early humans. While there have been rumours of humanzees, "missing links", and other human-animal crossbreeds occurring, no real evidence that humans and other species of primates could be capable of producing viable offspring has ever surfaced.

Still, by the turn of the 20th century, the distinction between humans and chimpanzees seemed far less rigid than it does now. Along with Charles Darwin's revolutionary contributions to biology, advances in genetics and comparative anatomy demonstrated that chimpanzees were far more similar to humans than anyone realized. The primate research pioneered by Alexander and Nadiya Ladygina-Kohts at Moscow's Darwin Institute showed that chimpanzees were capable of the same sort of cognitive development previously seen only in human beings. Such research, along with the radical discoveries of Ivan Pavlov, suggested that even the most unlikely projects into human and chimpanzee intelligence might be attainable.

Born in 1870 in Russia's Kursk region, Ivanov went on to become one of Tsarist Russia's most prominent authorities in veterinary medicine and a pioneer in the use of artificial insemination in horse breeding. Already a full professor at Kharkov University, Ivanov founded Russia's first institute for artificial insemination in 1901. He also became well-known (or notorious in some circles) for his radical ideas on interspecies hybridization. Using artificial techniques, Ivanov successfully created zebra-donkey and European bison-cow hybrids and demonstrated similar pairings with rodents. But Ivanov had more ambitious plans in mind. As early as 1910, he presented a paper at the World Congress of Zoologists raising the possibility of human-ape hybrids. Though the Tsarist government had no interest in such a project, the Russian Revolution of 1917 would bring new opportunities.

It was during his time at the Pasteur Institute in Paris that Ivanov began planning the ape-human hybrid project that would make him notorious. The Pasteur Institute had an experimental primate research station in French Guinea which Ivanov decided would be a perfect setting for his experiments. All that remained was to seek funding from the Soviet government. According to a 2005 news story describing Ivanov's project, it was Joseph Stalin who had personally authorized the project stating that, "I want a new invincible human being, insensitive to pain, resistant and indifferent about the quality of food they eat." Since the Red Army had been left dangerously depleted following the Russian revolution and the infighting that followed, replacing them with human-ape hybrids seemed to make sense. Creating strong, servile workers who did what they were told without complaining appeared to be the perfect way to complete Stalin's new Five-Year-Plan.

Given that the Soviet Union was already carrying out massive social engineering projects including farm collectivization, egalitarianism, and industrialization, Ivanov's project seemed plausible enough to attraact funding. According to Cambridge professor Alexander Etkind, another explanation for Ivanov's success in obtaining funding rested in the political value of demonstrating the link between humans and animals. As Etkind pointed out in a 2008 paper:

If he crossed an ape and a human and produced viable offspring then that would mean Darwin was right about how closely related we are. Ivanov’s approach to the government stressed how proving Darwin right would strike a blow against religion—Ivanov of course knowing that religion was something the authorities ‘were struggling to stamp out" which made his proposal all the more attractive.

Whatever the motivation, Ivanov received the equivalent of $1,000 to put his plan into action. Using the Pasteur Institute's research station in Africa, the plan involved artificially inseminating female chimpanzees with human sperm. The identity of the sperm donor is still unknown though Ivanov reportedly used the sperm of local men based on racial theories arguing that Africans were more closely related to apes than people of European stock. Since there were no sexually mature chimpanzees already at the station, Ivanov was obliged to do his experiment with three female chimpanzees at the zoo in French Guinea's capital. Not surprisingly, none of the chimpanzees became pregnant and Ivanov returned to the Soviet Union to continue his work there.

By this time, the Soviet government had built the Sukhumi Primate Centre near Stalin's birthplace in Georgia. Intended to become a world leader in primate research, the Soviet government decided to use the centre to raise Ivanov's hybrids. Still, his failure in Africa meant that Ivanov needed to move on with the next stage of his project: artificially inseminating human females with chimpanzee sperm. That failed as well when the last postpubescent male chimpanzee available to him in Sukhumi died. To keep his project alive, Ilya Ivanov decided on a new, and more desperate, gamble. He wrote a Cuban heiress named Rosalie Abreu requesting her help with his breeding experiments. Abreu had a large ape colony outside Havana and was well-known for her success in breeding chimpanzees in captivity.

In his letter, Ivanov requested a male chimpanzee for use in impregnating a female subject known to history only as "G". Though Abreu was initially agreeable to the proposal, she quickly changed her mind after approaching Charles Smith of the American Association for the Advancement of Atheism for funding. It was Smith who leaked the story to the press with explosive results. The New York Times reported the story under the headline, "Soviet Backs Plan To Test Evolution" and the Ku Klux Klan began crusading against the entire project. They even went so far as to threaten Abreu since the entire project was "abominable to the Creator." She quickly withdrew her support.

While he was still trying to find another chimpanzee breeder, Ivanov found the political climate in the Soviet Union changing rapidly. Presumably Stalin was no longer so enthusiastic about human-ape hybrids and the tide turned against Ivanov and his experiments. By 1930, Ivanov and many of his fellow scientists at Sukhumi lost their positions and he came under political attack. Whether he was deemed to be an embarassment to Stalin or simply due to bad luck, Ilya Ivanov was arrested and sentenced to five years in exile in Kazakhstan. His sentence put him to work at the Kazakh Veterinary Zoologist Institute though his science career was effectively over. He died of a stroke on March 20, 1932 as he was waiting for a train to Moscow.

Despite an obituary written by Ivan Pavlov, Ilya Ivanov's place in the history of science is hard to determine. His achievements with animal breeding and artificial insemination are still noteworthy but it his "humanzee" project for which he is best remembered. The Sukhumi Primate Centre remains active though the stigma of Ivanov's long-ago experiments continue to linger. Along with media accusations that the Centre was founded by Stalin for the purpose of raising human-ape hybrids, the breakup of the Soviet Union also brought accusations of other bizarre experiments conducted there. During the 1990s, after Russian science fiction writer, E. Parnov, managed to gain access to many documents about the Centre's founding, he published his findings with various speculations about the type of research that researchers carried out with Stalin's full approval. While there is no evidence that any human-ape hybrid experiments had actually been conducted there (largely because Ivanov could not find a sexually mature ape), the centre seemed to have no shortage of human volunteers. According to some sources, they were beseiged with letters from willing subjects but no actual experiments took place prior to Ivanov's arrest.

Though most of these media stories were largely exaggerated, they also called attention to the legitimate primate research at Sukhumi that Western researchers would not see until decades later. The centre was also the hub of some of the Soviet Union's most ambitious biomedical research including tests of the Sabin polio vaccine and treatment of radiation poisoning. It also became the model on which the U.S. National Primate Research Centers were based (and similar centres around the world). Since the end of the Soviet Union, the centre continues to do research though economic hardship has meant a large reduction in staff and resources.

Still, that the centre exists at all can be viewed as a testament to the cutting-edge primate research done there. Though the lingering stigma of Ilya Ivanov continues to give the centre an undeserved media notoriety, the researchers there can claim enough legitimate achievements to earn respect from primatologists around the world.

Ivanov and Stalin never got their ape-men but the legacy that the centre leaves behind is likely far more important.

November 17, 2017

All Horace Wells ever wanted was to relieve the pain of his dental patients. He probably should have quite while he was ahead.

Born in 1815, he attended schools in Hampshire and Massachusetts before deciding to become a dentist. Since there were no formal dental schools at the time, Wells received his training by serving an apprenticeship with several practicing dentists in Boston. After a brief period as a traveling dentist, he established a permanent practice in Hartford, Connecticut in 1836. By 1838, Wells was a well-known dentist in the community and had even made a name for himself among other dentists with his An Essay on Teeth, Comprising a Brief Description of Their Formation, Disease, and Proper Treatment. Although his practice was successful, Wells was frequently distressed by the pain that his patients experienced. Early nineteenth-century dentistry was frequently agonizing for patients since there was no reliable method of anesthesia available. Due to the medical risks involved, opium (and, later morphine) could not be safely administered for tooth extraction and alcohol had its own drawbacks. Looking into other methods, Wells stumbled onto a possible solution while attending a very unusual lecture.

When nitrous oxide was first discovered by Joseph Priestley in 1772, its properties weren't immediately obvious. First named "nitrous air" by Priestley, the colourless, non-flammable gas had a sweet odour and taste. In his later research, Humphrey Davy discovered that the gas had anesthetic properties (ironically enough, he had a wisdom tooth removed and found that nitrous oxide relieved the pain). Although Davy commented on nitrous oxide's potential role in surgery in a 1799 book, nothing really came of it at first. Still, the euphoric feeling experienced after inhaling nitrous oxide quickly earned it the nickname of "laughing gas". For the next few decades, nitrous oxide was popular for the recreational high it brought and "laughing gas" parties became popular, first with British aristocrats and gradually spreading to both sides of the Atlantic. According to the 1839 flier advertising a typical party, "The gas will be administered only to gentlemen of the first respectability. The object is to make the entertainent in every respect a genteel affair" (although you have to wonder how "genteel" the guests became after too much nitrous oxide intoxication). More serious lecturers even provided nitrous oxide cannisters in lecture halls so the audience could sample its effects themselves.

It was at an 1844 lecture by Professor G. Q. Colton where Wells tried laughing gas for the first time and realized that it could be useful for tooth extraction. After seeing another audience member injuring himself and showing no pain while under the influence, Wells decided to experiment further. He arranged a demonstration with Colton on the following day in which Wells had his own tooth extracted using nitrous oxide. Wells was excited by the success of the experiment and later commented that, "I did not feel it so much as the prick of a pin. A new era in tooth pulling. It is the greatest discovery ever made". Unfortunately, a followup demonstration that he had arranged for other Boston dentists and medical students was unsuccessful because he accidentally turned off the nitrous oxide too soon. The patient sat up and screamed and the audience walked out after declaring Wells' discovery to be a hoax. Despite this setback, Wells continued his experiments and successfully used nitrous oxide with his own patients.

In the meantime, other developments were happening in Europe. The analgesic properties of chloroform and ether had long been known but it was only during the 1840s that physicians and dentists began using them for surgical operations. After Wells' former partner, William T.G. Morton, first used ether for tooth extraction at Massachusetts General Hospital in 1846, newspapers in Boston widely praised him for his medical discovery. Painless surgery had suddenly became popular (Queen Victoria helped the process along in 1848 by asking for chloroform during the birth of her seventh child) and a battle quickly developed over who should should have the credit for inventing anesthesia (the term was coined by Oliver Wendell Holmes in that same year). Although Horace Wells tried to have his own work recognized, he faced stiff opposition from the Boston medical community (they regarded Morton as one of their own and wanted Boston to be recognized as the birthplace of anesthesia). It was as much a matter of money as prestige since Morton also tried to patent his anesthetic which would have made him a wealthy man.

With an aggressive campaign to have his early experiments in nitrous oxide recognized, Wells established his place in medical history after traveling to France and presenting his claim to the French Academy of Medicine. Although Wells' pioneering work was eventually recognized, his life quickly went downhill after his successful return from France in 1847. Since chloroform provided a safe alternative to ether, Wells began his own experiments which involved self-administering the drug in large dosages. The toxic effects of chloroform exposure were not well understood at the time and Wells became increasingly deranged. According to his obituary, Wells was approached by a patient who had apparently asked him for some "vitriolic acid" to help him "pay back a loose female, who injured his dress". He and the patient prepared a spray bottle of acid and squirted it on the woman in question. When the patient suggested "continuing the sport" with other women, Wells refused and went home. Unfortunately, Wells continued inhaling large doses of chloroform over the next few nights. According to the confession that he left behind,

"I lost all consciousness before I removed the inhaler from my mouth. How long it remained there, I do not know, but on coming out of the stupor, I was exhilarated beyond measure, exceeding any thing I had ever before experienced, and seeing the phial of acid, I seized it and rushed into the street and threw it at two females, I may have thrust it at others but I have no recollection farther than this. The excitement did not leave me for some time after my arrest."

Wells made no attempt at defending himself and was primarily worried about what would happen to his wife and child. Confined to a small cell in New York's notorious Tombs jail, Wells had somehow managed to smuggle in a razor and, after anaesthetizing himself with a dose of chloroform that he had poured into a handkerchief, he cut the femoral artery on his left thigh. When his body was finally found on January 24, there was a pool of blood in the floor of the cell as well as several sheets of paper on which he had written his confession as well as a final note to his wife. In that note, he explained his suicide on the grounds that he was fast "becoming a deranged man or I would desist from this act. I can't live and keep my reason and, on this account, God will forgive my deed. I can say no more". The note also gave instructions for his burial and disposal of his personal effects.

Although Horace Wells' final letter requested that he be buried in secret, he was interred at Cedar Hill Cemetery in Hartford Connecticut. William Morton and the Boston medical community played on the bizarre circumstances of Wells' death to reinforce Morton's claim as being the inventor of anaesthesia. It would take many years, and vigorous lobbying by Wells' supporters, before the American Dental Association and the American Medical Association formally recognized Horace Wells as a pioneer. Monuments to Wells have been raised in Paris and in Hartford, Connecticut. Nitrous oxide continues to be used as an anesthetic and, ironically in Wells' case, it has been successfully used in treating certain types of addiction including alcohol withdrawal.

November 12, 2017

When retired math teacher John Hildreth ran into a former pupil, Don Homuth, in Fargo, N.D. back in the 1970s, he was apparently inspired give him an old map he had inherited from his grandfather. As Homuth, a former Nebraska state senator, would later report, his old teacher said at the time that he probably had the perspective and sense of humour to appreciate the strange gift. Whether out of respect for Hildreth or because he really did have a sense of humour, the map would stay in his possession for another forty years. It was only in 2011, when Don Homuth decided to donate the map to the Library of Congress, that he finally discovered what a find it really was.

As the only complete copy of the "Map of the Square and Stationary Earth" created by Orlando Ferguson in 1893, it represented a strange glimpse into the mindset of one of 19th century America's most bizarre religious zealots. Very little is known about "Professor" Orlando Ferguson today except that he lived in Hot Springs, North Dakota and dedicated himself to proving that the Bible's description of the universe was the only true one. Insisting that the Bible was fundamentally incapable of error, Ferguson used the various biblical passages to create a map of the world that was, well, different from the one you've probably been taught in school.

For not only was the Earth in Ferguson's map completely flat, it was also square with the North Pole as the central point for the Earth's four corners. As for the Earth's edges, they are shrouded in cold and make up the region we incorrectly call the South Pole. He also insisted that the Sun was a mere 3500 miles from the Earth and turns on its own axis around the stationary Earth along with the moon (which is only 2000 miles away) and the stars, all with the Earth at the centre of the universe. And the planets? They didn't exist. Solar and lunar eclipses were due to the tiny stars that sometimes got in the way of the moon or the sun. Given that he insisted that the sun only had a diameter of thirty miles while the moon was only slightly smaller at twenty miles, it seems amazing that eclipses didn't happen more often in his worldview.

In talking about the various scientists, living or dead, that Ferguson was trying to discredit, he had nothing good to say. As far as he was concerned, they were all a pack of liars inspired by the devil to cast doubt on biblical teachings. Based on his own study of Scripture, Ferguson reported finding more than 200 passages which he felt refuted the globe theory. These included passages in which Joshua ordered the sun and the moon to stand still and the various references to the four corners of the and foundations of the Earth. But he also talked about the Gospel tradition in which Satan took Jesus to a high mountain and showed him "all the kingdoms of the world and glory of them." As he triumphantly pointed out, no mountain in the world could have been high enough if the world really was a globe.

But what about compass needles, you ask? Ferguson had that covered as well. In a magazine that he used to publish titled, "The Square World" , he denied that it had anything to do with "loadstone" (sic). He claimed that needles pointed north due to the great masses of ice to the north and south which magnetizes all railroad tracks running north and south. To demonstrate the truth of this, he offered the following experiment: "The first time you are on the Illinois Central or any other road that runs north or south, whet your knife on its rails and you will find that it will be magnetized enough to pick up a needle. Rails running east and west won't magnetize your knife blade."

While all copies of Ferguson's magazine have long since been lost, various newspaper articles have preserved a few precious tidbits intended to refute global theorists. Though globalists have long pointed out that a ship's hull disappears below the horizon before the stem and mast as proof of a spherical Earth, Ferguson had an answer for that as well. "Everyone knows that near the surface, the vapor rising from the water is very dense and it hides the hull of the vessel before it does the mast." As for various claims from world travelers of traveling around the world, all that Ferguson proposed a simple experiment: "Suppose you draw a large circle in a room, and that someone carries a light around that circle. Let that circle represent the equator and the light the sun. If you follow light, you are going west and you come back to where you started. It is the same in going around the world. You can only go around a large circle on top of it. No man has gone around the world or will go."

When not busily rewriting geography textbooks and trying to sell his book by mail order, Orlando Ferguson operated a health resort near his town of Hot Springs, N.D. Living up the town's name, his resort boasted a house and sanitarium where customers could bathe in the mineral springs located on the property. Ever the entrepreneur, he also bottled the water and offered it for sale by mail order. But that was just a sideline, really. He was mainly interested in spreading the word about discrediting the "globe theory" as he stated in one newspaper advertisement that ran in a Lincoln, Nebraska newspaper on August 23, 1891. Having written a 30-page pamphlet that would “set the world thinking”, he wanted to hire agents in “every city on Earth to sell them and, with a retail price of 25 cents each, he insisted that they would “sell at sight.” Interested parties were urged to contact him at his Hot Springs address (no word on whether he would throw in a bottle of mineral water to entice more customers).

Sadly, his zeal never convinced more than a handful of supporters and Ferguson largely faded into obscurity, along with what remained of his Hot Springs resort. His later financial projects, including speculating in Hot Springs real estate and acting as a frontman for a strange scheme to display the petrified body of a Native American man supposedly discovered near his hometown never seemed to go anywhere either.

Visitors to the Library of Congress can still see Orlando Ferguson's map and several copies of his book can be found as well. While he was hardly the first or the last flat earther to try to make a name for himself, his strange map still represents one of the most comprehensive attempts of its kind ever made.

November 10, 2017

There is a long tradition in psychology of using psychoactive substances to explore altered states of consciousness. Back in the 19th century, William James experimented with amyl nitrate, chloral hydrate and peyote to learn about mystical experiences while Sigmund Freud experimented with cocaine (and became a frequent recreational user as well).

Despite the backlash against psychoactive drugs in the early years of the 20th century, new possibilities arose with advances in biochemistry. When lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) was first synthesized in 1938 by the Swiss chemist Albert Hoffman, he actually had no idea what he had discovered. The compound was developed as part of a research program searching for ergot alkaloid derivatives that might be useful in the treatment of migraine headaches. Aside from the "restlessness" that was observed in laboratory animals that were given LSD, no particular value was found in it and Hoffman shelved his discovery for five years. It was in 1943 when he accidentally spilled some of the LSD on his skin that Hoffman slipped into a stupor and, in a dreamlike state, experienced "fantastic pictures, extraordinary shapes with intense, kaleidoscopic play of colors". That was the beginning of his research into the effects of LSD using himself as a guinea pig. Hoffman's graphic descriptions of visual illusions with bright, intense colours, multiple images of geometric patterns, distortions of body image and subsequent feelings of heightened sensitivity inspired his employers at Sandoz laboratories to perform experiments on other test subjects.

It was Walter Stoll, a psychiatrist at a psychiatric clinic in Zurich, who first began examining the effects of LSD in psychiatric patients and control volunteers. The publication of Stoll's research in 1947 electrified the psychiatric community and Sandoz began marketing LSD as a valuable psychiatric drug under the trade name "Delysid". Not only did Sandoz advertise Delysid as a potential panacea for most mental illnesses (including criminal behaviour and sexual perversions), they also recommended that psychiatrists take it themselves to "gain an understanding of the subjective experiences of the schizophrenic". The key assumption that underlay Sandoz's marketing strategy revolved around what would be known as the "model psychosis" hypothesis. The minute amounts of LSD that led to psychotic features developing in otherwise normal subjects reinforced the idea that schizophrenia and related psychiatric conditions were purely biochemical in nature. Was it not likely that mental illness was due to the human body generating LSD-like substances under conditions of extreme stress? Could research into chemical agents that interfered with the "psychosis-simulating" effects of LSD lead to new biochemical treatments for mental illness? The serotonin (5-HT) hypothesis of schizophrenia was first proposed during this period based on the observation that hallucinogenics such as LSD and mescaline functioned by acting on 5-HT receptors in the human brain. While the actual mechanisms involved appears to be far more complex than initially thought, it seemed only natural for medical researchers of the period to believe that LSD represented a powerful new tool in treating mental illness.

Delysid/LSD first became commercially available in 1947 and demand by researchers led to its wide availability around the world in a matter of months. Despite being marketed to medical doctors, early LSD advocates including Aldous Huxley and Alfred Hubbard (a.k.a. "Captain Trips") ensured that LSD would be seen as far more than a medical tool. Huxley wrote The Doors of Perception (1954) and Heaven and Hell (1955) based on his experiences with LSD and mescaline and these books quickly became classics. While no one could have ever foreseen the role that LSD would play in the counterculture movements of the 1960s, the recreational possibilities seemed clear enough.

From 1950 to 1965, research into LSD and related hallucinogenics generated over 1000 scientific papers and books and was the subject of at least six international conferences. Thousands of patients received LSD as a treatment for everything from schizophrenia to alcoholism.

November 05, 2017

Clark Stanley, a.k.a. "the Rattlesnake King", always knew how to put on a good show.

According to one news account describing his appearance in Hartford, Connecticut's city hall square on July 1, 1902, members of the audience got to watch as Stanley beheaded and skinned one of the rattlesnakes he had on display. Dressed in a "combination cowboy and Indian suit with a novelty in the shape of a four-in-hand tie made of snake skins", the Rattlesnake King showed off his skill in dealing with snakes, as well as how he used the freshly skinned snake to extract the oil that he offered on sale to willing customers. For, yes, Clark Stanley was indeed the original "snake oil" salesman and his rattlesnake oil was billed as a sure-fire remedy for chronic pain and inflammation resulting from lumbago, arthritis, animal bites, and scratches. Quite a bargain for 50 cents a bottle, really.

The process of extracting rattlesnake oil, which Stanley claimed to have learned from Hopi medicine men, was straightforward enough. After decapitating the snake, Stanley then cut the snake open and plunged the body into a pot of boiling water. This supposedly released snake fat that rose to the surface of the water and which he then scooped up and poured into bottles which he then offered up for sale as "Clark Stanley's Snake Oil Liniment." At least, this was what he did during his frequent "medicine shows" on his travel circuit across much of the United States. Not only did countless potential customers line up whenever he came to town, but his graphic killing and dismembering of a rattlesnake was one of the highlights of the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago (and a little more family friendly than what H.H. Holmes was doing nearby in his Murder Castle). That the thousands of bottles which he sold through his traveling shows and mail order business rarely had any real snake ingredients was something that wouldn't come out until much later.

We know very little about Clark Stanley's aside from his (mostly fictional) autobiography published in 1897 titled, The Life and Adventures of the American Cowboy: Life in the Far West. Whether or not Stanley actually had the, er, colourful life he descried in his book and his numerous shows, he certainly played the role to perfection. Oh, and the snakes? They were real too. Whenever he did his show, he brought a few rattlers with him to act as props to entice audiences to buy his miracle liniment. As he told reporters, his Texas snake farm boasted hundreds of rattlers though, thanks to the demand for his product, he often had to buy more from animal farms across the country when he ran out. Aside from his liniment, he sold a variety of other rattlesnake-based products and even boasted of his fondness for rattlesnake stew (presumably with the venom sacs removed). Business was so good, in fact, that he had other showmen go on the road as well to sell his products.

Though he was far from the first huckster to sell snake oil remedies, he was definitely the most well known. And there was some basis to the belief in his liniment's effectiveness thanks to Chinese traditional medicine. The Chinese labourers working the railroads often purchased oil made from Chinese water snakes to relieve pain from arthritis and bursitis. While the medical value of this kind of snake oil seems legitimate enough, Clark Stanley and his competitors seemed disinclined to buy snakes from China to sell in the U.S. Instead, he decided to find a local substitute in the form of rattlesnakes which, due to their lethal reputation, had a mystique that he hoped to entice buyers.

Unfortunately, rattlesnakes aren't Chinese water snakes. Not only don't their bodies contain as much of the valuable oils that their Eastern counterparts do but they're also much more venomous. And, as Clark Stanley was soon to find out, supply didn't even come close to meeting demand for his miracle product. Which is apparently what made him decide to, um, tinker with his original formula. Unfortunately for him however, the world was already changing for medical hucksters of all stripes.

By 1906, the Pure Food and Drug Act had been passed and tough new standards were put in place to prevent the sale of adulterated food and medication. The Department of Agriculture established a "poison squad" headed up by Chief Chemist Harvey Washington Wiley conducted stringent testing of a wide range of different products being sold to the public. Still, given the various public battles over better health standards for various food industries, Wiley and his squad had their hands full. Which was why it wasn't until 1917 when government inspectors finally seized a shipment of Stanley's snake liniment and conducted a thorough analysis of its contents.

What they discovered was that Clark Stanley's Snake Oil Liniment didn't contain any snake products whatsoever. According to the official report, the bottles contained a rather bizarre mixture of mineral oil, camphor, cayenne pepper, animal fat, and turpentine. While Stanley was charged under the Pure Food and Drug Act for "misbranding" his product, all that amounted to was a measly $20 fine. Still, the government report helped kill the demand for his product and Stanley soon found himself out of business. Even though his scam had likely made him a wealthy man, he never really recovered and quickly faded into obscurity.

Though there have been other medical hucksters since Clark Stanley, his snake oil is still famous enough to lend its name to the myriad other products of dubious medical validity being sold today. So spare a though to Stanley and his hucksterism the next time you see some new miracle remedy for sale. Snake oil doesn't just come from snakes any more.